weather forecasting

I saw a feather
in the sky
a quill of sorts

trailing the word


the wind was high
the clouds came in
much lower

grey grew wide
illuminated each letter

and the rain
washed the word


I saw a plume
annotating one section
of sky

the line it penned
in a stream
of white


the blue
held the word
in a sweet formation

frayed slowly
by the zephyr breeze

tailed away


I saw the impression
of fading cirrus
and waves

a sky tide
disappearing remnants
of a declaration


the sun
beat down

the sky
all wriggling lines
of an illusion

that there may be

© Frank Prem, 2016

Poem #10: old birds refrained


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